The Startling Realities of Motherhood

Has anyone ever woken you from a peaceful slumber with an ice-cold bucket of water? You’re sleeping peacefully then BAM, water in the f*ing face. You wake up gasping for breath in full PTSD mode and realize immediately that your mattress is soaking wet and probably ruined. Motherhood is the cold water and the ruined mattress is your vagina. Just call me the metaphor magician.

It makes sense to me to begin with the starling reality of a slash in your abdomen or stitches in your torn vagina at birth. But if I start talking about that then I have to discuss the pleasures of pregnancy such as heartburn up to your eyeballs, nausea, vomiting, sciatica, fatness, swollen-ness, waddling and other such hormonal fuckery. If you enjoyed pregnancy, then please keep your stupid positive experience to yourself.

Since that opens an entire can of vomiting, fat, pregnant worms I’m just going to start after the vagina stitches and abdominal slashing. This is when reality truly comes crashing down.

Part of your life is now dead. Mostly just the fun parts. You stopped drinking several months ago, but now you’ll just stop knowing people entirely for a few months. You can say farewell to happy hour (outside the house in real clothes), your social life, and your friends without kids. They don’t hate you, but they probably don’t like the slimy little germ factory that goes with you everywhere. Plus, they have fun things they to do. You aren’t fun. Sorry to be the one to tell you.

Your body is now a weird and stretchy science experiment. You might pee a little when you laugh or yell too loud at one of the thankless offspring not listening to the words coming out of your mouth. Your boobs will get inexplicably huge and then deflate. You’ll waste money on bras. Then your feet will suddenly be a half-size bigger. Forever.

Whether you work or stay at home, some twat will pass judgment on you. She is stupid and annoying and should be ignored unless you feel like flipping her the bird or insulting her mother. You will question your decision, too. If you stay home you will be sure your career is ruined and you’re resigned to a life of doing dishes and wiping asses. If you go back to work you’ll feel an urgency to be with your kids and wonder about the people watching them. It’s a big downward spiral. You’ll suddenly realize why your health teacher talked about condoms in middle school. (She’s laughing at you).

You will start to dread simple tasks and find them exhausting beyond reason. It’s not just brushing your teeth, it’s brushing the teeth of someone whose will far exceeds yours and who throws stuff in the floor for a hobby. This same non-compliant, yet exceedingly cute, little person won’t want to wear shoes, bathe, or be nice. The small details of existence will become exhausting and therefore very optional. I have skipped so many basic laws of cleanliness in the name of “I’m too tired,” that it’s a little embarrassing. I’ve taken toddlers out without shoes and coats and left my dignity at home on more than one occasion.

Your husband will unwittingly find new ways to piss you off. Some are reasonable while others originate in crazy town. If he gives you a hard time about either one, just flash him your mangled lady parts and tell him to come back after he pushes a kid out of his penis hole.

You are now the responsible adult in these parts. If you thought paying taxes and finding a fixed rate mortgage was hard, then you are in for a steaming poop sammich. Your kid will come to you and say, “Dad said to ask you,” when you were going to say the same thing, but the sly bastard beat you to it. You will constantly try to pass off the “Responsible Parent” title to whomever else lives in the house that doesn’t shit in their own pants.

You will mentally revisit all the stupid, rude, and wrong things you’ve done. Uh oh. You subsequently hope that karma is a myth.

There will be days when you are sure you can’t take anymore. If there is one more screech, whine, demand, or fight you will go postal and cook the dog, with a side of goldfish, for dinner. And you’ll eat it and like it, goddammit.

Motherhood will shock the shit out you and there is no way to prepare for it. If you’re newly pregnant, you will soon become fat and miserable, but you can still savor silence and the horrible lies about parenthood you’ve seen in movies before your own body turns on you.

If you just had a baby, you can rest assured that it gets easier, but not that much easier. You are forever tied to an illogical and impulsive little person who holds the key to your heart and happiness. They do grow up. Then you have an illogical and impulsive teenager driving your car.

You won’t be at peace ever again. Your bathroom will smell like pee forever. You will have that one wrinkly fold of skin around your belly button that never goes away because you got so fat when you were pregnant (Just me? Fuck you.) Your boobs will look like they’re frowning at you, and you’ll hang on to one of those varicose veins in your left leg all because that bastard knocked you up and made you fat.

Welcome to the Mom Club, suckas. We have meetings, but no one ever shows up. Because, you know, KIDS.

Mandy lives in Kentucky with her husband, two sons, and a dog named Dude. She has a graduate degree in International Relations, but is currently living life as a mommy and a blogger at Words by the Glass. She is a regular contributor to Baby Gizmo, and her work has also been featured on Scary Mommy, Indie Chicks, and Tipsy Lit.